


The Day Before

by Bones_and_tomes



Category: Jacksepticeye-Fandom, Markiplier-fandom, Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series), jacksepticeye, youtube-Fandom
Genre: Angst, Attempted Sexual Assault, Backstory, But nothing was shown, Character Death, Child Death, F/M, Lots of character death, M/M, Reincarnation, Septicegos, and it wasn't successful, iplieregos - Freeform, reference to attempted rape
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-08
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:46:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22178026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bones_and_tomes/pseuds/Bones_and_tomes
Summary: "Energy can nether be created or destroyed; rather it can only be transformed."What if the egos had all once lived another life, before the became what they are today? What if the souls of the dead were used as the base to create the characters we love so much today? This is a story about before transformation. The last day before actually.Each chapter is the last day of an egos first life. Before they're born again, before they became who we know now.Chapter one: King of the SquirrelsChapter Two: Bim Trimmer
Comments: 22
Kudos: 33





	1. King Of The Squirrels

Reggie knows four things for certain in his life.

_One._

He’s three years old; his mommy tells people in stores that. Now Reggie isn’t entirely clear on what the big deal about three years old is, but it seems to be of great importance to all the big people in his life. He doesn’t know how many olds his mommy is but he bets she’s a billion. After all his mommy has always been there so she’s gotta be the biggest olds.

_Two._

He knows that his name is Reginald Michael Lee. That’s very important to know. Because sometimes Mommy says it all at once and that means he gotta listen real hard to what she says. Lots of the time it’s to stop playing with his food, and even though Reggie doesn’t really understand why that’s bad to do he tries his best to listen. Mommy also says it’s a rich sounding name, so he can grow up and get good jobs. Apparently, that’s important too.

_Three._

He knows his mommy is the most beautiful lady on the whole planet. Reggie knows that cause she’s mommy and who else would be prettier? Auntie’s pretty, his babysitter is pretty, but not Mommy pretty. He’s sure they already know that though.

_Four._

That when he rubs peanut butter on his face, his mommy calls him a squirrel.

Being a squirrel is one of Reggie’s favorite things because that means his Mommy will pick him up and wash him off in their sink. It might sound a little funny, but he likes those moments best. When Mommy is only taking care of him, and nothing else.

She never ignores him but. . . Reggie always has to work a little harder to get his Mommy’s attention when she comes home from work, cause her job makes her tired, and ever since the doctor told her, her back was all messed up she’s. . . quiet.

So that’s what he was doing right now.

When his Mommy came home she paid sitter, she checked on him, took some medicine, and then she fell asleep on the couch. Reggie knows she didn’t mean to, it just happens sometimes. But this night. . . It was really, really, reallllllllllllllllllly hard to wake her up.

Reggie stood in front of the couch his little fist bunched in her braids, “Mommy? Mommy up!” No response so he gave her hair a jerk and. . . Nothing. This wasn’t fair. He’d waited all day for her. So, he wrapped his fingers tighter and jerked even harder. She didn’t even budge, she wasn’t moving _at all_.

He scrunched up his eyebrows, his little lips turned downwards. Hmp. So, she’s playing a game with him. He’s figure out something to wake her up.

After a moment Reggie let out a giggle, oh he knows exactly what he’ll do.

Mommy always, always knew when he was making a mess, it was like her superpower. So, the smartest thing to do was to make the biggest mess possible. Reggie knew just the place to do that.

The kitchen.

So that’s how Reggie found himself toddling into the kitchen with one goal, and one goal only. Destruction.

Reggie began to grab everything he could reach, throwing it down onto the floor watching as it exploded onto the ground. He even opened the freezer up and began to empty its contents onto the floor giggling all the while. Too bad he couldn’t reach the freezer. 

He paused, looking back to the couch only to see his Mommy hadn’t moved at all. That’s it. Time to really do it.

He began scanning his eyes over the shelves till he spotted it; The peanut butter. Not all the way up soooo. . . If Reggie got the chair over to the counter, he probably could get onto the counter and grab it.

With mission set in mind he turned to the table and began to drag away a chair, wiggling it all the way over to the counter till it was snug against it. Proud of his work Reggie managed to worm himself up onto the seat, and then drag himself onto the counter with a limited amount of failures

This is something he felt everyone should be very impressed by. The chair was taller than him after all, and this required quite a bit of problem solving from a three-year-old.

So, there he was, standing on top of the counter, in a kitchen practically slathered in food products. He waited for a few more seconds for his mommy to come tell him to stop, but again. . . No one came.

Well he could fix that.

Standing on his little tippy toes he reached up to grab the jar of peanut butter and finally he grasped it, bringing it down to himself.

Reggie held it for a moment. Surely, she must know something isn’t right, Mommy must have heard something by now. She always does.

Something doesn’t feel good anymore. Something feels wrong. Something feels very, very wrong.

No. Reggie shook he little head. This was a game. Mommy was playing with him. He knew that but for some reason he couldn’t keep the wobble out of his voice as he called to her, “Mommy I’m about to be a squirrel!”

No response.

He. . . He just had to prove it to her then. That’s all he had to do. They were playing a game is all.

So, he pried the lid open, and stuck his little hand into the jar scoping out as much peanut butter as he could get and he plastered the guck onto his face, “Mommy I did it!”

No response.

Something was wrong. Why wasn’t mommy playing back? She should be playing back by now, “Mommy!”

He had to get to her, and with that thought in mind he _leaped from the counter_.

. .. .

. .. .. . . …

. . .. .. . .

. . .. .

.. ..

.

…… . . .

It’s strange the thoughts that go through your head, especially when they’re your last.

An adult might think back on their past, maybe on missed opportunities. Or perhaps they’d simply enter a blind panic, thinking on how it wasn’t their time yet, on all the things being left unfinished. Maybe they’d just freeze fear the unknown. Most importantly though, if an adult was dying, they would understand.

But Reginald Michael Lee wasn’t an adult, in fact he was just a three-year-old little boy.

So, when he jumped from the counter and slipped on the food covered floor, he didn’t understand what was happening when his little skull hit the floor and shattered. He certainly didn’t understand how something could hurt that much.

But more than anything he didn’t understand why his Mommy wouldn’t save him.


	2. Bim Trimmer

_**1/1/1949** _

Bryce knew one thing for a fact, and that was that he was going to die today.

That didn’t mean he had to look like it though, and so there he sat in front of his makeup mirror. Hmmm. Should he go with a natural look, or something more striking? Striking. After all, one only dies once, and he never has actually gotten to apply makeup the way he wants. He should be allowed to do what he wants tonight.

He reached out and snagged up his foundation, and began to drip it over his face, as he glanced over his shoulder to the lump laying behind him, “Why did you have to bleed so much, Teddy? My makeup was perfect.”

It really had been. He’d had a show that night so he’d worked on it for hours, nudging every little thing about himself into perfection. His clothing had been beautiful as well, selected by that lovely new girl they’d picked up. Pity. She’d need to find a new job.

“It’s your fault I have to start over again. If you had just let me shot you the first time, then I wouldn’t have to waste my time on this.” 

The foundation went on well enough, time for the contour, “But you just had to knock it out of my hand.”

He really wished Teddy had just let Bryce shot him, because now he can’t get the taste of blood out of his mouth. It was like a coppery oil had slicked down his throat, and coated his tongue.

Now Bryce didn’t mind the taste, he just wished the blood belonged to anyone else. He could survive killing anyone else.

“Worse of all I had to waste half an hour washing up.” God, makeup was magic, wasn’t it? Took him from a fairly handsome man, to being beautiful. Beautiful enough to catch a man like Teddy’s eye, “God. I wish I knew how long you told them you would be visiting me. If I did, I could plan out my time.”

He took a moment to turn and actually look at him. The lump was still as a rock. Well. . . he was more like a bolder than anything, “I have better things to be doing right now. I hope you know that. Like getting drunk. It’s one in the morning on New Year’s Day. I should be sloshed. But no.”

He turned back, glaring into the mirror as he began to work on his eyes, “I’m sitting here completely sober. That should be a crime. Why couldn’t you have waited till I was a little tipsy to try and rape me? At least then I would have a nice buzz right now.”

Bryce had no doubt he could have killed the man, even if he was. He wasn’t proud of it, but he had. . . Handled a fair amount of men in the past. Not just for himself either.

In a business like his, he often found that the entertainers were the subjects to abuse from anyone and everyone who got the chance to. Let’s just say that he never stood for that type of behavior.

The agresors were almost always directors, managers with exceptional contracts, or men like Teddy. The owners of their venues. 

But Teddy was more than that. Bryce wasn’t entirely sure what the man was actually the head of, but it was certainty illegal, and even worse it was very organized.

Bryce had heard of people, known people, that had been disappeared after going toe to toe with Teddy. That’s how he knew that he was going to be killed today. As soon as Teddy’s men came looking for him, Bryce was done for.

He’d thought about running, but there was no where he could go. He didn’t have the connections, the money, or frankly the skill to hide away.

With all of that in consideration, he decided if he was to die, then he would do so on his terms. And those terms involved a full face of makeup, dressed nicely, and with a glass of champagne in his hand.

He finished applying his lipstick lipstick, something he was excited about seeing as no one had ever seen him in it. Yes, he knew that the people seeing it would be shooting him, and then likely the morgue workers, but he had to find the silver lining. If he didn’t he would be having a panic attack by now.

Slowly he stood, looking over his face for a long moment, before turning and stepping over Teddy, “I’m going to pour myself a drink, and change clothes. It’ll just be a moment, and I’ll be back.”

Teddy remained motionless.

Bryce turned to the bottle unscrewing it slowly, trying to ignore how his hands were shaking as he poured the liquor into his glass. He stared at the bottle for a long moment before bring it to his lips and gulping, the glass dropping to the floor beside him.

Time to get dressed then.

He made his way out of the private lounge, and into a dressing room. Slowly he looked over line after line of suit, and wished vainly that he had something with a little more pizazz to wear. Closest thing he had was a checkered piece. Hmp. At least it was interesting.

As he began to pull it on he heard it. The Knock.

“Mr. Ted! Those boys you told not to come around anymore are back, what do you want to do with them?”

Fuck. They were here. Fuck. Just a few more moments then. He just had a few more Moments. Fuck- Fuck just. . . Just a few. . . Just . . .

“Mr. Ted? You in there, Sir?”

Bryce brought the bottle back up to his lips. He almost couldn’t swallow it. This- This wasn’t- This wasn’t right. He was going to- to be a star. He . . .He’d worked- he’d worked so hard- so hard to be one. If- if he’d just had a few more years- He could have made it. _He could have_.

“He went in here right, Harry?”

“Yep. Wanted to speak with the entertainment alone if I remember right.”

There was the sound of rustling on the other side, “Shit. The door’s locked _. Mr. Ted! If you don’t say nothing we’re coming in!_ ”

When they were meet with deafening silence. Bryce heard a single curse and then the deafening sound of the door being kicked off its hinges.

“Mr. Ted-! _Holy shit_!” There was clattering, as if a body was falling against a table, “Holy- Holy fuck-” This time the man had cut off to throw up, the sound of his retching echoing around the room. Bryce, despite everything, couldn’t help but wince. That carpet had been expensive.

The other man’s voice came, sounding almost like he was being strangle, “What- _What the fuck happened_?! It- Shit- Shit it looks like something tried to- to eat him- His throat is fucking gone-!”

Distantly Bryce registered that. He might have gotten carried away, but the man had knocked his gun away and had, had him pinned to the couch. His only weapon had been his teeth.

The first voice finally came back, strained and terrified, “Harry- Harry the- The door locks from the inside- What- whatever did this is still- _still_ in here-!”

Now or never Bryce supposed. His death, his terms.

He buttoned the final button and stepped out, plastering a smile on his face, “Hi there boys.” His voice hadn’t shaken. He could do this. He could be strong.

He knew these men. The two of them always hovered at Teddy’s sides like attack dogs, but now? They were covered in vomit and shaking like leaves. Some. . . Something about that felt good. Bryce was going to die, but they were the ones scared.

  
He was going to die with power.

With that in mind he managed to push forward, a smile on his painted lips, “I see you were admiring my work.”

He nudged Teddy with his shoe, morbidly noting how the head flopped over.

“You- _You_ did this-?!” The vomit covered man rasped out with wide eyes, “You- You’re just a fucking-”

He was cut off by the other man, Henry Bryce thinks, aiming a gun and cocking it at his head. This was it. This was the final moment.

Bryce had just enough time to turn to Henry and smile with his teeth bared. In return, he was meet with a look of pure terror.

Bryce’s last thought was how nice it felt to be looked at like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what do you guys think? I will take anything. Even a keysmash.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope ya'll like this!!! Please leave a review if you can!!! Like ANYTHING I just wanna hear anything back!!!!! Like even a keyboard smash or like one word. Just pllleeaaase.


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